


The Coward's Way

by Meraad



Series: The Disaster that is Evelyn Trevelyan [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26568163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraad/pseuds/Meraad
Summary: Evelyn Trevelyan has been running from her problems for years, but since she ended up with a mark on her hand and named the Herald of Andraste, she can't run fast enough.But after Alexius thrusts her into that horrible future, Evelyn realizes she can't run any longer.
Relationships: Blackwall | Thom Rainier/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall | Thom Rainier/Female Trevelyan
Series: The Disaster that is Evelyn Trevelyan [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1244630
Comments: 16
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

Evelyn fled the Hinterlands determined to put as much distance between herself and the Warden Blackwall. She thought of heading for the Imperial Highway and follow it up through Crestwood, what was left of Lothering, eventually arriving in Highever, where she had planned to finally sail back to the Free Marches. Maybe she would just continue until she reached Antiva. 

She could change her name and just disappear and let Thedas fend for itself. The Inquisition could handle the unrest and the warring Templars and mages. As for the rifts, well, she didn’t care. No matter what Blackwall had implied. If she saw one, she’d close it, but she was not going to go out of her way to track them down.

Hand curling into a fist, shocks of pain bolted up her arm, leaving an ache in the bend of her elbow, and through her shoulder. Evelyn grit her teeth and scowled at her gloved hand. _Andraste’s Herald my ass,_ she thought bitterly. She had never been particularly faithful to religion though her family was devout. Her choice to become a soldier and not join the Templar order as her elder brothers did had always been a point of contention between her and her parents. 

And then she had gone and married a school teacher. Closing her eyes against the pain, she breathed through it. Tried to. She wanted to scream. Alexander had been the kindest man she had ever met. Gentle and patient with the children. With _her_. She had never deserved it, never deserved him. 

_Punishment for your sinful ways!_

Her mother had screamed that at her when she’d gone to relay the news. Because if nothing else, her parents had doted on their only grandchild. 

Yanking her pack higher on her shoulder she quickened her pace. Evelyn knew she should have done this weeks ago. Had it been weeks? Weeks since that first day when the Warden had found her after she had battled a handful of demons. Since he’d kept her from certain death, which she was still very much **not** grateful for.

He should have left her out there to die.

Evelyn was torn between cutting across the hinterlands, dealing with difficult terrain and wild animals and potentially bandits, or backtracking to the Imperial Highway which would take her through Redcliffe. She knew it would be the quickest option, but there was always the possibility of running into someone she didn’t want to see. Like the members of the Inquisition that she knew were filtering into the Hinterlands. 

Looking for her?

It didn’t matter because she would be long gone before they realized she’d lingered.

Hair tucked back in her hood, glove concealing the mark, she was just another traveler on the roads. Until she reached Redcliffe and spotted another rift directly in front of the gates. It spit out demons and there were soldiers there, fighting them, shouted orders reached her ears and she felt the pull toward it. Her hand sparking and practically vibrating with the need to reach out to it.

A foul curse left her lips and she ran, further up the road, putting distance between herself and the rift. If she closed it they would see her, they would know who she was. 

A pained cry reached her ears and she told herself not to turn around, not to look, but she skidded to a halt and turned just in time to watch the soldier fall, gutted and dead before he even hit the ground. “Fuck you,” she spat to whoever or whatever it was that had put this mark on her. That had thrown this duty onto her shoulders. They’d picked the wrong person. 

But she couldn’t just let them die. Letting out a scream of rage she ran back down the path, launched off a massive boulder, and landed hard in a crouch just below the rift. There were a few shouts of surprise, but the soldiers were so distracted by the demons that kept pouring out they barely noticed her. Thrusting her hand up she squinted at the bright light that was the rift and felt it, that pull and pain that came with closing the rifts. 

It reverberated up her wrist, pulled through her elbow, and made her shoulder feel tight. Then snap. The rift drew shut, leaving the air tasting like a lighting storm and her ears ringing. Flexing her fingers before drawing her hand down to clutch at her chest, now her hand tingled as if it had fallen asleep, and pinpricks of sensation were returning painfully. Evelyn stayed hunched there, wishing herself invisible. The demons were gone and she knew that the soldiers were looking at her now. 

She couldn’t look at them, refused to. Couldn’t bear the weight of the awe and adulation that would no doubt be in their eyes. Evelyn was no hero. Lifting her head just enough to see where they stood, she quickly plotted her quickest route to escape, and then she ran. Ignoring the shouts that came from behind her. She ran around the stone wall that surrounded Redcliffe, spotted a thicket, and all but dove into the brush. 

Back against a tree, legs splayed in the thick foliage around her, she closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. Blindly she tugged off her glove and shook out her hand before massaging it with the other. 

  
  


Blackwall had known that last time that Evelyn walked out the door of his small cabin that she truly was leaving the Hinterlands this time. But that isn’t to say that he didn’t hope. Which was something he knew he had no business doing. Or maybe that was all he deserved. To hope that he’d see the woman who was so damaged that he felt as if they matched in some fractured way - yet be denied that. 

It was why, just a few days after she’d left when the people from the Inquisition had shown up and he’d asked to join them. _Fuck the Inquisition, the Maker, the Chantry-_ her words were a quiet echo in his mind when the woman with the very short crop of dark hair had questioned him about the other Grey Wardens. 

It made his heart beat faster, sweat trickle down his spine whenever anyone asked about them. He was lucky they were such a secretive organization and he’d been careful to avoid running into any others. Joining up with this Inquisition was likely a bad decision, but maybe, just maybe, he’d see Evelyn again. They said they wanted to help, and that had been his goal in the last years. To help as many as he could while he still breathed. And if it turned out that they were as terrible as Evelyn had implied, then he could always leave. 

Even still, he told them he’d meet them in Haven and had waited nearly a handful of days, hoping that Evelyn would walk into the tavern, or show up on his doorstep once more. But she didn’t and he resigned himself to his promise. 

There was disorganization to Haven when he arrived. Arguments over what the next move would be. Talk of the Herald, her abandoning the cause. Whispers of breaches being closed, trying to track her down. Blackwall often found himself staring at the breach. It made his chest feel oddly hollow, his throat tight to think that she had gone into the Fade. Walked back out. A part of him didn’t blame her for running. Cowardly, and yet, he had no room to judge her for that. 

“I know that you just left the Hinterlands, Warden Blackwall,” Cassandra was saying and he looked over to where she stood. “But there is the matter of Redcliffe. We have received word that they have shut the gates and are not allowing anyone in, or out. If you could travel there and see-” she let out a breath. “To fully seal the breach, I believe the mages are our only option. Cullen believes the Templars have the capability to temper the power of it. But without the Herald I don’t know if either party can do anything for it.” 

Blackwall looked at the Seeker, she looked weary and there was a scar on her jaw that looked to be fresh. “What exactly do you want me to do out there?”

“See if you can get into Redcliffe and find out what is going on. And if you-” she broke off, let out a breath. “Word has reached us of the rifts in the Hinterlands being closed. I know of only one person who can accomplish that. Her name is Evelyn Trevelyan, and the Inquisition needs her. We told her she could leave but- there are so many rifts, so many demons and our soldiers can’t fight them all.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. How could he tell this woman that he knew the Herald and she had no intention of returning.

“Take the soldiers you may need,” she continued. “And Varric, please.” 

Rubbing a hand along his jaw, Blackwall nodded. “Wouldn’t Solas be the better option in dealing with the mages?” he asked, and it was ornery, he knew because it was no secret that Cassandra and Varric were always at each other's throats.

“He is an apostate,” she said as if that explained everything. “I am begging you. Take Varric.” The look Cassandra gave him was pleading and he pressed his lips together to hold back the grin.

“Alright, Seeker,” he relented.

And that was how he found himself, with Varric and a handful of soldiers setting up camp a short distance from Redcliffe. It was late in the evening and they had debated the merits of heading for the gate at the late hour or waiting until morning. Finally deciding they would wait, they settled in for the evening.

  
  


Evelyn stared down at the small camp of Inquisition soldiers and silently cursed her luck. She felt an odd sense of betrayal when she first spotted Blackwall with the Inquisition forces. Which she silently berated herself for, because she didn't care what he did. But she watched. waiting. Because she was going to confront him. It was late the sun sinking low on the horizon when he walked away from the camp to relieve himself. Evelyn followed.

It didn't matter she kept trying to remind herself. But the anger bubbled inside her, and she had

no one else to lash out at, so just as he turned to return to the camp, Evelyn stepped into his path and shoved him hard.

Blackwall staggered a half step back and then he just stared at her in surprise. "Evie-" he breathed and she felt an odd twist in her belly and that only made her angrier. She shoved again but this time he didn't so much as sway.

"What are you doing with them?!" she hissed angrily, gesturing toward the camp.

Blackwall crossed his arms over his chest and lifted a thick brow. "Helping," he said, voice calm. "The Seeker Pentaghast arrived at my cabin a few weeks ago and asked me to join them."

Curling her hands into fists, Evelyn felt her heart beat faster. _Did that mean he had told them about her? Was that why they were here?_

"I thought you were leaving," he continued and Evelyn glanced away.

"I tried," she bit out the words. Again, he raised a brow, and her lip curled in response. Evelyn shoved at him again. "Fuck you!" she ground out between clenched teeth. “You stupid noble, self-righteous prick!” She punctuated every word with another shove to his chest that didn’t move him an inch. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was so angry that he’d joined the Inquisition. Of course, he would. Evelyn had figured out enough about him and his need to help people, whether they wanted it or not. 

Her fingers were curled in the front of his gambeson and her head tilted back to look up at him while her chest heaved. “Why did you leave them?” he asked and her grip tightened. 

“I did what they asked. They put me in chains, treated me like a prisoner, and then decided I was the Herald of Andraste. It’s all a load of chantry bullshit and I won’t be a part of it.” Angry tears stung her eyes and she jerked slightly at the front of his gambeson. 

Blackwall’s arms fell to his sides and he just looked at her and her anger grew exponentially. Was that pity in his gaze? “So why are you still here?” he asked.

Shoving away from him, Evelyn paced away a few steps and then whirled back around to face him. “The fucking mages. There’s a fucking Tevinter magister in there and they have sworn fealty to him,” she waved a hand toward Redcliffe castle and she saw the confusion on Blackwall’s face.

“A magister? What about Enchanter Fiona, that’s why the Inquisition is here. She asked them to meet with her.” 

Scoffing, Evelyn ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Yeah, well, time travel.” She hadn’t believed it at first with the mage Dorian had found her while she’d been hiding in the bushes a handful of days earlier. She’d called him a lunatic and turned to leave, telling him none of this was her problem. Then he’d called her a coward. Ducking her head she curled her hand into a fist, remembering the crack of her palm against his cheek. 

Looking back up, she found Blackwall peering at her as if maybe she’d lost her mind. “It’s complicated, the mage can explain it better.” 

“The Inquisition will want to know about this,” he said, rubbing a hand over his bearded jaw, the hair rasping beneath his palm. 

Evelyn shook her head. “You tell them and I’m gone. This Magister wants me dead, because of this,” she spread the fingers of her left hand, the mark sparking beneath her fingerless leather glove. “I’d be better off leaving Ferelden all together.” 

“So why haven’t you?” he asked again, folding his arms over his chest once more.

_“Well, with all the stories I heard about the famed Herald of Andraste, I wasn’t expecting such a coward.”_

“None of your business,” she retorted and then shook her head. Approaching him had been stupid and pointless. He’d run back to camp and tell whoever was in charge that she was there and then what? She knew that they hadn’t actually expected her to leave when she was given the chance, so would they throw her in chains again? A familiar hand curled around her forearm, tugging her back around to face him and without conscious thought, her arms were around his shoulders, her fingers in his hair while Blackwall buried his face against her throat, sucking and scraping his teeth over the sensitive flesh. Her legs were around his waist and his hands on her ass, supporting her weight. 

Evelyn whimpered, then felt something hard at her back, trapping her up against Blackwall’s chest. Her hands were nearly frantic as she tugged at the fastenings of his gambeson, while he yanked at where her tunic was tucked into her trousers. He released her long enough to let her shove the garment off his shoulders where it fell to the ground with a quiet thud, and then his hands were on her hips, calloused palms scraping over bare flesh, up her sides. She shuddered at the sensation, then yanked her tunic over her head, felt her hair snag on one of the buttons, but so desperate she just pulled harder, felt the hairs rip free from her scalp but the pain was fleeting and then Blackwall’s mouth was on the swell of her breast. 

His hips were a hard press between her thighs and Evelyn arched against him and scraped her nails over his scalp. Blackwall drew one pebbled nipple into his mouth, sucked hard, and then let out a low curse against her skin before drawing back and forcing Evelyn to stand on her own two feet again. Her breathing was labored and she swayed at the sudden rejection. But then he was on his knees in front of her, tugging at the laces of one of her boots. 

Yanking it off her foot, he threw it over her shoulder, and then his hands were at the waistband of her breeches. She had to grip his shoulders to keep herself steady and he paused, looking up at her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Yes,” the word came out strangled and desperate. Then he yanked her trousers and smalls down, freed one leg, and then he was lifting her again. 

Evelyn thrust her hands down between them, to unfasten his own trousers. Pushing the offending item down enough to wrap her fist around his cock she heard Blackwall groan low in his throat, then she felt the fingers that cupped her rump shift, teasing her opening. Without words, he pressed her back against the tree again, and Evelyn guided his stiff length to her slit. Then he was pushing forward, filling her, stretching her and her head fell back. 

Buried to the hilt, he stayed there, fingers digging into her thighs with bruising force, Evelyn lifted her head to meet his gaze as she slid one of her hands to the nape of his neck, the other beneath the tunic he still wore. Lips parting, her breathing ragged, she had to fight the urge to draw his head toward hers and kiss him. 

It disturbed her how much she wanted to kiss him, to taste his lips, and claim his mouth. She hadn’t kissed another man in years, despite the many other things she’d done with countless others. The last man she had kissed was Alexander. The fact that she wanted to kiss this man, this broken man who was kind to even those who didn’t deserve it. Self-loathing burned in her chest and she scraped her nails along his side, desperate to banish the desire. “Fuck me,” she bit out. Then she did tug his head forward, her lips skimming along his jaw before she sunk her teeth into his earlobe. 

Blackwall’s hips bucked and whatever moment they had shared was broken. He pounded into her with no regard for her back against the rough bark of the tree and she welcomed it all. The driving thrusts had them both at the brink in minutes. Evelyn sunk her teeth into her lip to keep from crying out as she hit the precipice and then seemed to stand teetering on the edge for long heartbeats. 

Another hard thrust of his hips, she heard his groan and felt him pulse hot and wet, filling her with his release. The pleasure left her in a rush and she sagged beneath the weight of the contempt she felt for herself. Blackwall’s breath was hot against her throat, her damp skin now rapidly cooling she shivered and used it as an excuse to push him away. “Get off,” she groused, ducking her head and bending over to yank her breeches back up the moment her feet touched the ground again. 

He stood for a moment and she felt his eyes on her, but he didn’t say anything, only went about righting his own clothing while she did the same with hers. “They want you to come back,” Blackwall spoke as Evelyn began tucking her tunic back into her pants.

“Good for them,” she muttered. 

“You may have closed all the breaches in the Hinterlands, but there are-” he was quiet for a beat and she glanced at him. “There are a lot and soldiers are dying trying to keep the demons contained.” 

Evelyn straightened, pushed a lock of hair out of her face, and shook her head. “I don’t care,” she told him, and knew he’d find that unforgivable and as she said it she saw the anger knit his brow and purse his lips. “I won’t be their Herald. Why don’t they go ask the Maker for help closing all those breaches.” 

Then she turned and walked away. She made her way through the thick overgrowth and slipped through the narrow gap that was practically invisible to the camp where Dorian sat perched on a rock. He glanced at her and she saw the disdain in the look he gave her. Only it didn’t bother her, because she felt the same thing for herself. “Got that out of your system then, did you?” he inquired with a lifted brow. 

Evelyn didn’t reply, simply trudged over to the fire, and sat down in front of it. “You do realize lives are at stake, don’t you?” he asked. “Which I’d say is considerably more important than you getting railed by the hairy lummox.” 

Heat burned her cheeks and she turned her face to glare at the mage. “Enjoy the show?” she asked, lips curving up into a smirk. 

His disdain shifted to disgust. “Actually it quite turned my stomach.” 

Evelyn stared back into the fire again, hands curled into fists. “Do you have a plan yet?” Because if he didn’t, she didn’t think she’d last in Redcliffe much longer. Her encounter with Blackwall only made her feel the need to run grow even stronger. 

“Actually, I do.” And she was relieved. She’d help him stop this Magister and then she could finally get out of Ferelden once and for all.

* * *


	2. A Miserable Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few bits of ~~art~~ an excuse to draw naked Blackwall booty for the previous Blackwall and Evelyn encounters [X](https://www.deviantart.com/meraad/art/The-Disaster-that-is-Evelyn-Trevelyan-856246677) [X](https://www.deviantart.com/meraad/art/Blackwall-and-Evelyn-856200631)

Evelyn landed hard on her back, knocking the breath from her lungs and for long seconds she just lay there, trying to figure out what had happened. She had been standing before Gereon Alexius, confronting him face to face about his involvement with the Venatori. Then Dorian had been there and there was a flash of light and she couldn’t breathe.

Blinking several times to clear her vision, she glanced around. She was alone. Not in a prison cell, but outside of them. Had she been knocked unconscious and tossed down here? Rolling onto her side, she drew up onto her hands and knees and took a moment to reorient herself before pushing up to her feet.

Drawing in a deep breath, Evelyn gagged at the fetid stench that assaulted her nose. Death and decay and rot. Gagging again she looked around for the source and only then realized that the mounds in the cells were bodies. All in various stages of decomposition. In some of the cells, there were several people, in others only one or maybe two. 

Desperate to escape, Evelyn turned to flee, or at least, try to, but she caught a glimpse of armor on one of the bodies. She had seen it before and it took long moments to place it. And her mind flashed back to waking up in chains beneath the chantry. The short-haired woman towering over her. 

Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast.

Bile burned Evelyn’s throat, she turned, ran for the door, and was surprised to find it unlocked. Frantic she looked for another door, spotted one, yanked it open, and found more cells. Only these ones appeared to be empty, of living beings or dead ones. The air was musty, stank of refuse, but not death. Collapsing onto her hands and knees, Evelyn retched. 

The Seeker was dead.

_ How had this happened? _

She wasn’t in the Hinterlands. Blackwall had said she’d gone to Val Royeaux. 

A sound caught her attention and she looked up startled to find that someone stood in the cell at the end of the room, watching her. 

Beard overgrown, hair longer than before, but she recognized him. Sucking in a sharp breath, Evelyn scrambled to her feet and crossed to the room to where he stood, hands curled around the iron bars. “Blackwall.”  _ But it was impossible. How could he be here? How long had she been unconscious? And where was Dorian? _

His eyes narrowed and quicker than she could react, he reached through the bars, yanking her forward, one hand fisting in the hair at the nape of her neck, the other catching her wrists. “What are you-” 

Blackwall pulled her closer until her forehead pressed into the space between two bars and she blinked several times, not understanding what she was seeing. This man was Blackwall. But this was not the same man she’d let take her against a tree just a few days earlier. Not the same man who, hours before she and Dorian had slipped into Redcliffe castle, she’d tracked down and stroked his cock while telling him how she wanted to find the woman who made the fine fake cock and wore it on leather straps, and purchase it from her. How she’d have Blackwall suck it before she bent him over the nearest sturdy surface and fucked him with it. 

_ No. This man was older. Harder. Broken. _

“Thought you were dead,” Blackwall said, and there was something odd about his voice. Husky and rough from disuse. But something else she couldn’t place. Familiar grey eyes searched her face and he frowned.

“What happened?” Evelyn asked, afraid to hear the answer. He released her and jerked his chin toward the door.

“Get me out of here and I’ll tell you.” Looking over she spotted a ring of keys hanging from a peg on the door. After fetching it she returned to the cell and looked at him. “Two years ago, you and that mage walked into the castle and never walked out.”

Setting her attention on the task of figuring out which key unlocked the cell. “How do you know that?” she and Dorian had snuck in under cover of night. He was silent for the time it took her to try three keys, Evelyn looked up and found him staring at her.

“I was watching. I saw you two slip in. I waited. The sun came up and you didn’t come out. There was no sign that anything had happened. And then everything went to the Void.” Evelyn ducked her head again, one key. Two. “The mages marched on Haven, destroyed it. Killed anyone who didn’t pledge to join them. The Seeker, and her companions, tossed in these cells.”

The keys slipped from trembling fingers and landed at her feet and Evelyn didn’t stoop to pick them back up. Her throat was tight and every time she blinked, she saw the Seeker’s corpse. The others. The Commander, Lady Montilyet. 

_ Was it her fault? Had she caused all of this? Haven. All of those innocent people. _ Evelyn felt dizzy and curled her hands around the bars to steady herself.  _ Two years. Two years. Dorian had spoken of time travel, but a part of her hadn’t believed it. And where was he? Had she ended up here alone? Was he dead too?  _

Hands curled over hers and Evelyn flinched. She looked up and met Blackwall’s gaze and finally, she realized what was so wrong about his eyes. There was a red haze in the grey. Those pale irises were now shot through with red that seemed to glow. 

Red Lyrium. 

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked her, his voice thick. 

Evelyn shook her head sharply, crouched to grab the keys, and returned to her task. “Nothing. There is nothing-” Dorian might be able to figure out how to get them back to the right place.  _ If he was still alive _ . 

The key clicked into place, the lock tumbled and the door swung open. Evelyn stepped back, but then Blackwall grabbed her, spun her, and pushed her back up against the bars. “Nothing?” he hissed at her. “You doing nothing is what got us all into this situation in the first place. You ran like a coward away from the Inquisition, why? Because you don’t believe in the Maker? Do you have any idea how many innocent women, children, and men died because of you?” 

“Let go,” Evelyn snarled, jerking against his grasp. Her hands curled into fists.

“You don’t even care, do you?” he bit out the words and Evelyn clenched her teeth, biting down on her tongue as anger began to build inside her. “You don’t care about the soldiers who died protecting villagers. Or the villagers who were slaughtered by demons trying to flee the rifts you refused to deal with.” 

“Shut up.” Evelyn’s chest heaved with every breath. A vision of Alexander came to her unbidden. Trying to outrun the Qunari hoard in Kirkwall.

“You don’t give two shits about the children who cowered and hid from the mages and Templars who invaded Haven-”

_ Isaak. Her baby boy. Four years old and he was so perfect. So smart and sweet. All traits from his father. _

It was a nightmare she had almost every night. How scared was he? Did he know what was happening? Had he watched his grandparents, father, aunts and uncles and cousins die first? Had he screamed for her in the end? Wept because she wasn’t there to protect him?

The scream Evelyn let out came from the very pit of her stomach. She thrust her head forward, slamming her forehead against his face. She felt his nose crack, the warm rush of blood and when his hands released her, she shoved at him, knocking him on his back she beat at his chest again and again. “Fuck you! Fuck you!” she screamed, drawing blood with her nails on his throat. “You know nothing!” 

Evelyn lashed out, enraged when he so easily flipped her onto her back and pinned her hands over her head, and trapped her legs with his own. Furious tears burned streaks down her temples and into her hair. When Blackwall shoved his hand under her shirt, felt along her belly she couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Her anger was a bomb inside of her, so strong she couldn’t breathe. She’d kill him, it was a crystal clear thought in the haze of her emotions. 

Then he sighed, leaned down to press his forehead against hers. “Evie,” he breathed her name and she bit him on the jaw, hard enough that he jerked back.

“Don’t call me that,” she snarled, trying to pull her hands free. “Get your fucking hands off me you fucking asshole.”

“Evelyn,” his voice was soft. Blackwall withdrew his hand from her shirt lifted it to cup her face. She tried to bite him again and he let out another sigh, this one infinitely weary. “Do you want to know how they broke the others?” he asked, but she was struggling against him, refused to answer as she tried so hard to get free. “A demon wore your face.”

At that, Evelyn went utterly still. “It was enough to manipulate them. They didn’t know you. You weren’t part of the Inquisition long enough for them to see through the farce.” He slid his hand down, tracing the scar that ran from hip to shoulder. A scar that Blackwall knew intimately. “And maybe they wore me down. Maybe you are a demon.” He shook his head a little and drew back, releasing her. 

Blackwall got to his feet, mopping at the blood that oozed from his broken nose and Evelyn just stared up at him for long moments. “I never told anyone I knew you before I joined the Inquisition.” He held out a hand to her and after several long moments, Evelyn reached out, let him drag her up to her feet. 

“How-” the words got caught in her throat as she stood in front of him, his hand still wrapped around her own. “How many times did-”  _ how many times did a demon wear my face and try to trick you? _

Blackwall seemed to figure out what she wanted to know without her having to voice it. He shrugged one shoulder. “It used to happen a lot in the beginning, but I think they gave up over the last few months and they were just going to let me rot down here.” He rubbed his knuckles along her chin. “So what are we going to do now?” he asked.

Evelyn sunk her teeth into her lower lip, staring at a spot on his chest. “Dorian,” she murmured. “I have to find him, the mage. He was with me when Alexius did… whatever it was he did. Maybe Dorian can fix it.” Maybe Dorian can get us back to where we’re supposed to be and this future won’t happen. 

“Alright,” Blackwall stepped back, rolled his shoulders, and then headed for the door. Slowly he opened it, peered outside, and then looked back to where Evelyn stood. “Lead the way, my lady.” Hesitating a moment, Evelyn drew in a breath and headed for the door. 

They hadn’t made it far when a door opened and a man stepped through. All three froze for long seconds before his face contorted. “Hey!” he shouted, “Where’d you come from?!” Evelyn lunged, made quick work of running the man through with her sword. Then she took his fallen weapon and extended it to Blackwall, who took it with an inclination of his head. 

“Any idea where to start looking?” he asked and Evelyn shook her head.

“We were upstairs, in Alexius’ private quarters. I don’t even know if he’s here.” Doubts were beginning to creep in and Evelyn was afraid that all of this was pointless. That she was alone and there would be no going back.

Gentle pressure against her back and she turned her face to look up as Blackwall came to stand beside her, his hand resting at the small of her back. “Then that is where we’ll go. We’ll figure out a way to get you back to where you belong, one way or another.”

So they made their way through the dungeons, grateful that those they saw were fairly easy to pick off between the two of them. But as they moved up the floors, they caught movement, a group of red templars, trudging along, searching. Blackwall caught Evelyn’s arm, dragged her into a narrow alcove and they stood there, bodies pressed together, barely breathing as they waited. There were far too many for them to take on.


	3. Chapter 3

Blackwall frowned as he stared at Castle Redcliffe. He had watched Evelyn and the mage slip inside nearly an hour earlier and it had taken all his restraint not to follow. A small royal force marched into Redcliffe and he leaned forward, curious. Queen Anora. She and most of her soldiers went inside. Ten minutes later they marched back out. 

Then he saw Evelyn step out and he frowned in confusion. She shoved at the shoulder of the man in front of her, whose head was hung low, and his hands were bound in chains. The mage followed and said something, but Evelyn waved him off. Pushing at the man’s shoulder again. She marched him through Redcliffe and Blackwall caught up to her as she reached the Inquisition camp. 

The soldiers watched her warily and Varric raised his brows as she shoved the magister onto his knees. “Keep him locked up, take him to Haven,” she said and there was a hollowness to her voice. “The mages will be going there as well-” she curled her left hand into a fist and then Blackwall realized her right arm was hanging limp at her side. She hadn’t so much as moved it since stepping out of the castle. “They have safe passage,” she ground out. “They are going to help seal the breach. They are not prisoners. They are allies and will be treated as such.” 

Varric inclined his head. “As you say, Herald.”

Evelyn’s jaw clenched. “Don’t-” but she broke off, turned, and walked away. The mage started to follow once more, but Evelyn said something and he stilled, turned and Blackwall met his gaze. The man dipped his head slightly and walked away, and Blackwall trailed after Evelyn.

He caught up to her as she stood at the edge of the lake. The sun was just beginning to inch up over the horizon and he looked at her. She looked defeated. As if she’d been fighting on a battlefield for days, not in a castle for a mere hour. There was a gash above her eye that was crusted with blood, her right arm, he realized was likely dislocated from the way it hung there. Her thin leather armor was covered in blood and ichor. 

Moving to stand in front of her, he took her face between his hands and it worried him when she let him with no reaction. Her face was filthy and the streaks in the dirt and ash on her cheeks told him she’d been crying, though her eyes were dry now. “What happened in there?” he asked and her jaw trembled and she shook her head, refusing to answer. 

He watched her for long seconds then let out a sigh. “That water is freezing,” he told her.

“Unlace my boots,” she said, and her voice was hoarse as if she’d been screaming for hours. “Please,” she added on and Blackwall’s brows shot up in surprise. He crouched in front of her, quickly undid the laces. He felt her left hand grip his shoulder for stability as he lifted her foot up to remove first one boot then the other. 

Standing up again, he released the line of buckles along the front of her leather jacket, and though he was careful she still made a quiet, pained sound as he inched it off her arms. Her undershirt was far more difficult, but soon he had her stripped down to the thin breastband and trousers. Blackwall eyed her shoulder. “I could-” he hesitated. He’d popped many a dislocated joint back into place before, on the battlefield, it wasn’t new to him. But it would hurt. Swollen as it was and he didn’t understand why she hadn’t let the mage do it. Surely, even if he wasn’t mastered in healing, he’d have been better able to help her.

“Do it,” she said and there was still something so distant about her voice that it worried him. 

“Alright.” Then, careful as he could, his bare hands against her tense frame, he rotated her arm, felt the pop, heard her gasp. Evelyn leaned her head forward, pressed her face against his shoulder and they both just stood like that for long seconds before she drew back to her full, though inconsiderable, height. She flexed the fingers of her right hand, shifted her arm, and winced. “Take it easy,” he admonished and reached for the ties of her trousers. He unlaced them and slipped down easily down her legs. 

Standing back up, he looked down at her as she lifted her left hand to the locket at her throat. Evelyn bit her lip, then turned, angling her head forward. Blackwall felt like his hands were giant compared to the tiny clasp and it took long moments before he managed to release the small hook.

He was curious about who they were and what happened to them. Blackwall knew Evelyn’s body intimately, had brushed his lips over the stretch marks on her belly. Even from the tiny portraits, he could see bits her and the man in the child. Curling his fist around the locket he held it, knowing how important it was to her. 

Had they died in the aftermath of the conclave? Was that why she hated the Inquisition so much? Did she blame them? Sinking down onto his knees, Blackwall met her gaze before tucking the locket into the toe of her boot for safekeeping. 

After a moment, she walked past him, hesitating at the edge of the water, the gentle lapping of the water rolling over her toes. She looked at him over her shoulder and Blackwall saw the vulnerability in her gaze. She stood nearly naked to her skin before him in the early light of dawn, but the look in her eyes was stripped bare. It was unexpected and Blackwall didn’t deserve whatever trust she was laying before him.

He didn’t deserve it and he knew it, but he wasn’t about to turn away. He dropped his gambeson beside her own pile of clothes, then yanked his tunic over his head. Evelyn held his gaze for a moment longer then began to step into the water in slow, measured paces. Blackwall nearly bit back a curse, knowing the water would be like ice. But if she wanted him there- yanking off his boots, he shoved down his trousers, but left his own smalls in place, as if it would offer any protection from the cold water. 

Catching up to her when she was nearly waist deep, Blackwall let out a low curse at the shock of cold that seemed to steal his breath, before he reached out and let his hand slide over Evelyn’s hip. She turned to him, her good arm slid around his shoulders, while she kept the other low, her fingers splaying against his side as he took them deeper into the lake. 

Faces level as her legs wrapped around him, Blackwall let his hands slide over her body. Not overtly sexual though. Simply reassuring himself that she was there. She was whole, despite her injuries. He traced the scar over her belly and felt her shudder against him. “Tell me?” he asked. He wanted to know what had happened and why she seemed so defeated.  Evelyn’s lips parted, her jaw trembled and she pressed them together in a tight line. “Alright,” he said not wanting to push. He splayed one hand in the center of her back, while the other slid up to her neck. “Lean back,” he told her and helped her dip her head into the water, wetting her hair. He held her like that, wished he’d thought to grab a scrap of cloth or something as he carefully rinsed the blood from the gash over her eye. It didn’t look deep, and he was grateful it didn’t start to bleed again when he finished cleaning it. 

Leaving her as she was, Blackwall caught Evelyn’s hair in his hand, smoothing a hand over it, then running his fingers through as gently as he could to rinse the matted blood from it. He felt desperate to know what had happened inside that castle. She had abhorred any previous attempts he’d made at caring for her. 

She stared up at the ever-lightening sky and he saw a trickle escape from the corner of one eye and disappear into the water around her. A tear? Or just a drop of water. Shifting his hand up to grip the back of her neck, he drew her upright once more. “Hold your breath,” he said. Her eyes were brimming with tears. She gave him a nod, and then he dunked them both under the water. When they came up, he was cursing and she drew in a gasp and clung tighter to him. 

Throwing his head back to get his now dripping hair off his face, he reached up to smooth Evelyn’s back. In turn, she did the same. Her left hand, her marked one, pushed his hair off his forehead, and then she let it trail down, along the side of his face to curl her fingers in his beard. She watched him so intently, Blackwall was afraid to move, afraid to speak for fear of breaking the moment.

Evelyn leaned in, her nose brushing against his, her breath on his lips, and his eyes slid shut. He’d wanted to kiss her since she had propositioned him in the tavern that night. But Evelyn had made it clear that she wouldn’t have it. So he’d capitulated, and kissed every inch of her body instead. 

Her head tilted slightly, her nose still rubbing against his, and then her lips met his in the barest of touches. Blackwall’s grip tightened on her. She hadn’t meant to, surely, and then she drew back enough to look into his eyes. Her lower lip quavered, and then Evelyn leaned in and kissed him full and hard. 

Groaning against her mouth, Blackwall’s lips parted and he tasted her tongue. He cupped the back of her head with one hand, the other splaying at the base of her spine. 

Blackwall felt like he was drowning, though his head was above water. She clung to him, her legs tightening around his middle, while the fingernails of her right hand pricked his back. Without breaking the kiss, Blackwall turned, hoped he had them facing the right direction, and began wading back out of the water. He kicked a rock, cursed against her mouth, but sucked her lower lip between his when she might have broken the kiss. 

Now that he had his mouth on hers, he never wanted to stop. His heart was a mad beat in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears and down lower. Evelyn broke the kiss, sucking in a deep breath and Blackwall took the chance to glance to where their clothes were piled on the shore. Her clothes were destroyed, but his would make a suitable enough cushion for her back. 

Laying her out on his discarded clothing, she didn’t release him, her legs stayed locked around his waist. Blackwall braced his weight on an elbow beside her shoulder and she peered up at him. Dark brown eyes wide as she stared up at him. He hesitated.

He was a bastard. A piece of shit. Evelyn was exhausted, and clearly in shock from whatever had happened in Redcliffe Castle. He was taking advantage of her, though he knew she wouldn’t admit to such a thing. “Evie,” his voice was a quiet rasp. He’d do the right thing. He’d stop this. But then her fingers curled in his beard again, tugging his head down gently and their lips met once more and Blackwall knew he’d rot in the most desolate reaches of the Void. 

He kissed her and let his free hand stroke down from her throat, over the curve of her shoulder and along her arm. He traced the swell of her breast, and the tight pebbled nipple before continuing down the length of her body with delicate strokes. Between her thighs and through her curls, he parted her lower lips and stroked. 

Never tearing his mouth from hers, Blackwall continued his ministrations as he felt her grow hot and wet against his palm. Pushing two fingers inside of her, he curled them forward as he rubbed his thumb against her clit. Evelyn’s head arched back, her eyes glassy before they fell shut on a moan. Lowering his head he kissed her throat, the tops of her breasts urging her closer to that peak.

Her breathing stuttered and she let out soft whimpers and moans as she clung tighter to him, one hand fisting in the hair at the nape of his neck when he carefully wrapped his teeth around a taught nipple. She grew tenser with each circle his thumb made around her clit until Evelyn let out a sharp cry, and inner walls clamped down on his fingers and he felt her grow even wetter. 

Blackwall continued to rock his hand against her in slow movements, though he withdrew his thumb from the now hypersensitive nub. Evelyn’s grip in his hair tightened and he felt her give it a sharp tug, causing him to look up at her. She met his gaze, held it for long seconds, and then she pushed him onto his back. He didn’t resist, fully expecting her to start railing at him for taking advantage, for kissing her. Only she didn’t. 

Evelyn straddled his hips, reached between them to curl a fist around his aching erection, and then she was sinking down, heat engulfed him and Blackwall’s hands went to her hips, gripping tightly as she began to rock against him. She leaned down, her breasts pressing into his chest, and her mouth brushed against his, again and then again, before she deepened the kiss, stroking her tongue against his, and gently nipping at his lower lip. 

All the while their lower bodies moved as if of their own accord. A steady pace, Blackwall met her thrust for thrust, but as their pleasure grew, the movements grew faster, more erratic. Evelyn broke the kiss, bracing her hands against the ground beside his head as Blackwall held her hips up and drove into her, faster and harder. He watched her face, the way she looked down at him with an unreadable expression in her eyes. 

She cried out, back arching and Blackwall bucked harder, his fingers digging into full hips, holding her against him as his own cock pulsed with release. 

* * *

Evelyn was crouching beside the dead man’s body, rifling through his pockets in search of a key when something slammed into her, hard. And too late she felt the familiar sizzle in the air of a magic spell. Her face cracked against the stone floor and pain shot through her skull. Blood filled her vision and she was dazed for several heartbeats, then she heard Blackwall groan and the weight holding her down was gone. 

Rolling over as quickly as she could she saw Blackwall sprawled out beside her. At first, she didn’t understand what she was seeing. Blood. Not just the blood dripping from the gash on her head, blood in a rapidly growing pool beneath Backwall. “Dorian,” she rasped, scrambling to her knees her hands fluttered over his torso, over the splotch of blood that did not match the puddle beneath him. “Dorian!” she screamed, slapping her hands down against the wound that she knew, she knew wasn’t the worst of it. 

“A little busy here!” he bit back and she heard him grunt, knew he was likely battling whoever had fired that spell off at her.

“Hold on,” she said, looking up to Blackwall’s ashen face. “Hold on, Dorian will fix this.” Hot tears filled her eyes.

“Evie,” he murmured.

“Shut up,” she barked out, feeling the blood soaking through the knees of her trousers. “Fuck,” she choked out. “Just-just hold on. You’ll be fine.” 

His breath rattled in his lungs and a broken sob escaped her lips.  _ No. No, not like this _ . He’d tackled her, saved her life. And now after two years in a cell, he was going to die right in front of her. 

“Do you know what I thought about?” he asked, his voice a rasp. He reached out one hand, traced her arm.

“Be quiet,” she told him but leaned in closer to hear him better. “Be quiet and reserve your strength. Dorian can fix this.” 

“You,” he murmured, fingers reaching up to touch just below the cut on her forehead. “Always you. And how I’d wished-” he coughed, blood burbling up over his lips. “Wished I’d gotten the chance-” 

Evelyn leaned in closer. “You need to be quiet,” she said, as if him not talking would save his life. The wound was mortal. So much blood. He was dying. 

“I never would have deserved it,” he continued, finger stroking her cheek. “But I’d hoped that you might trust me, one day. Might let me in. Past those walls. That you’d let me kiss your lips.” 

She sat up abruptly, startled at his confession. Her heart skipped several beats. “Dorian!” she screamed again. “Hurry!” Then she shook her head. “You hold on. You don’t die and I’ll kiss you. How’s that for a deal? You live and I’ll kiss you any time you want.” Her words were desperate and he offered her a sad smile. 

“You have to go back, fix all of this, and make sure this future never comes to pass.” 

Evelyn felt frantic, she cupped his face, stared into his eyes, full of weariness. He was right. She’d go back to where she belonged and this man would never exist. Without giving herself a chance to overthink it, Evelyn closed the distance between them, pressed her lips to his, and kissed him. 

But his lips remained lax under hers. Lifting her head a fraction, she found his eyes were vacant, no more breath in his lungs. “No!” she shouted. “No!” Evelyn heard a sound, looked up as Dorian came to a halt at Blackwall’s feet. “Do something!” she wailed.

“He’s gone,” he said. “I’m sorry. There is nothing I can do.” 

Evelyn woke with a start, she sat up, her head spinning, her mouth and throat achingly dry. “Evie,” she heard Blackwall’s voice distantly. “Evelyn.” His hand splayed over her back and she felt bile burn her throat. Turning away from him she gagged, retching, but her belly was empty and there was nothing to purge. 

_ I kissed him _ , she thought miserably.  _ Alexander is no longer the only man I’ve kissed. _ That had been the one thing she’d held onto over the years. Though she couldn’t remember what his mouth felt like on hers. That had been the only that she’d given to him and only him. And now- 

“Evelyn,” Blackwall’s voice was louder this time and she blinked as she turned her face to look at him. He was watching her, warily, then he held out her satchel and she took it with numb fingers. For a moment she just sat there, and then, her anger at herself threw her into action. She yanked open her bag, found a fresh change of clothes, and yanked on her trousers. Dragging his tunic over her head she threw it at him before replacing it with her own. 

Once her boots were on she walked away from him without a word or a backward glance. Her left hand pulsed and she knew she couldn’t run anymore. She had to face the Inquisition, and do everything in her power to keep the future she’d seen from existing. 


End file.
